


Dark Enchantress

by bornforwar_archivist



Category: Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-31
Updated: 2006-12-31
Packaged: 2020-03-10 04:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18931561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bornforwar_archivist/pseuds/bornforwar_archivist
Summary: By CarlyAn alternative world, filled with magic rather than mythology, where our friends meet similar challenges in very different ways.





	Dark Enchantress

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Delenn, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Born For War](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Born_For_War), which closed in 2015. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in March 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Born For War collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bornforwar).

_A wizard did it . . ._

**Prologue**

Terrifying.

The woman looked up and saw that the stars had changed slightly their position in the sky.

 _That’s_ what she’d done; moved the world a little.

And it felt terrible. She’d been the conduit of a power that before she’d only guessed at. The kind of power that was uncontrollable – she’d not harnessed it, but opened a door wiser ones barred and guarded. As the power had gone rushing through her, she’d felt not the wild freedom she’d hoped for, but instead a strange imprisonment; and she’d heard dark inner chuckles, as though evil were amused at her naivety . . .

Wounded. That’s how she felt.

She rocked a little, wrapping her arms about herself, her deep blue eyes registering pain. She needed something, she needed something that magic couldn’t give her, and she didn’t know its name. But she knew someone who would.

Stepping back inside from the balcony of the Tower, drawing her heavy red robes around her, she moved to the fire in the centre of the room. It roared up at her presence; but it wasn’t real, for all that it provided heat and light, so it could not comfort her. Looking around, she noted all the luxuries of her palace room dispassionately. A wooden shanty would serve her as well.

“Strange wanderer! Solitary enchantress! Victorious empress!”

The presence of the Sorcerer surrounded her, but his magic chilled rather than comforted her. He wasn’t human, knew nothing of regret or loss.

“Those names – they aren’t . . .”

She stumbled, couldn’t go on. She knew he could sense a yearning within her, but it wasn’t for anything he’d understand. He couldn’t give her . . .

“You did what so many have dreamed of!” he chortled, ignoring the agony she cradled. “You drew on powers that most people don’t believe in!”

“Except in their nightmares –“ she snapped back, then sighed. It was like explaining death to a child. “I’m scarred, injured . . .” She almost whimpered, but held onto herself. “I won’t recover from what I’ve done, can’t you hear me?”

It was as though she’d never spoken, as he went on praising her now-regretted actions, giving her names she reviled, titles she despised. He was the greatest Sorcerer in the world, she knew he could feel the ache in her heart as well as she! But to interpret it – _that_ was beyond him.

“I need to go,” she muttered finally, using the blunt way of speech he liked and understood. “I need to get away from what I’ve done.”

“You’ve changed the world! How can you get away from that?”

**Chapter One**

“Oh – nearly . . . are you watching?”

“I’m watching.”

The two women lay in a low grassy field, in the late afternoon. Only the soft hum of bees and the low whirring of dragonflies punctuated the stillness.

Lark’s hands came together, a little shakily, and then moved apart in a flash. There, floating between them was a butterfly; a perfect fluttering insect, shimmering for a moment. Then it disappeared.

“Oh!” Lark’s face was a study in disappointment, but Sojourner smiled.

“Congratulations. Your very first apparition.”

“But it didn’t last . . .”

“They never do,” Sojourner shrugged, lying back and watching the other butterflies in the field around them, just as real and beautiful. “And they shouldn’t. You just stole that creature from tomorrow. I’m sure it’s happier where it is.”

“So I’ve become a thief!” Lark laughed, and brushed her hand through a dandelion seed-head, allowing the soft white seeds to float on the wind. She watched them move through the air, and sighed peacefully.

“Do you feel happier than you ever have before, Sojourner? Because I do.”

A low laugh was followed by a thrown dandelion.

“You have no idea, Lark.”

“Even though every warlock in the place is after you?”

“Just gives me something to do,” Sojourner replied in her deep voice that thrilled with conquest.

“What, now you’re bored?”

Sojourner’s eyes widened before she realised Lark was teasing her.

“Oh, I’ve got a student who keeps me pretty busy,” she returned, watching inch-high rose bushes grow and wilt under the steady movement of her right hand.

“A pretty slow one,” a more resigned voice replied.

“Not my student. She’s diligent and very enthusiastic.”

“That counts?”

“For everything.”

“What about you? Were you an enthusiastic student?”

“Hmm . . .” Sojourner considered this, moving her left hand over the illusionary flowers and changing them to tiny olive trees. “Ravenous is probably more accurate. All this preliminary stuff I learned on my own. All the ordinary magics . . . I was hungry for more, real sorcery and enchantments. Not charms or spells, illusions or minor apparitions. So I sought out a teacher – oh, yes, I was a good student I suppose. But then, he was a good teacher.”

“Who?”

Sojourner hesitated. “Thunder.”

But Lark’s voice stayed calm. “What, he’s real? I thought he was just in a story.”Sojourner couldn’t help but laugh at that, leaning over and tugging a lock of blonde hair.

“Oh, Lark, I wish he could hear that!” she reconsidered. “Well, not I don’t. But – just a story!”

“What does he look like?”

Sojourner stopped, honestly perplexed at the question.

“How strange, Lark, I’ve never even asked myself that.”

“What, you’ve never seen him?”

“Not with human eyes – I mean, human sight,” Sojourner sighed. “When everything about you is illusion, enchantment, you don’t look any longer with ordinary sight. You just see magic . . . I don’t think I ever really saw Thunder. I never even bothered to look . . . I just saw his magic.”

“And what was that like?”

Sojourner’s answer was a sigh, rich with longing.

“Oh, Lark – you have no idea,” she stopped at that. ”And I hope you never do.”

Lark finished plaiting her chain of daisies and pressed it onto her friend’s head.

“I’ve crowned you with Summer, now,” she told her. “You have to answer me three questions.”

“Hey, if I’m the Queen, why do I have to answer you?” Sojourner returned, amused, thinking that Lark, with her green eyes and fair hair looked more like Summer than any girl she’d known.

“Because that’s the rule!” Lark told her indignantly. “Hmm. . .” She was lost in reverie a moment.

“Wait till Winter and I’ll crown you princess of ice, with a few snowballs,” Sojourner warned her.

“Firstly, O Queen, tell me about the very first boy you kissed.”

Sojourner rolled her eyes. “You’re still such a child, Lark. I must have been all of five years old the first time I pressed a kiss on a boy, and I think he cried.” She grinned at the memory. “ _Not_ the usual reaction.”

“All right, then; what was the very first lie you ever told?”

“That’s not so easy to recall.” Sojourner paused. “I think I escaped a whipping when I blamed the dog for a broken bowl and not my own clumsiness.”

Lark lay back, contemplating the third question. Then she hit upon it.

“Sojourner, what was your very first magic?”

There was a change in Sojourner’s voice that was becoming familiar to Lark – it meant sadness and it meant a closing off of herself.

“You don’t want to know.”

Lark rolled over and looked at her friend.

“Yes, I do.”

For a moment a pair of piercing blue eyes were staring into her own, and the iciness made her shiver to her bones. She dared not blink; she dared not move.

“I stopped a heart. My very first magic. I held a bird in my hand and stopped its heart with my thoughts.”

Lark blanched. Then –

“How’d you get the bird to come into your hand?”

“It was a chicken.”

Lark’s lip trembled. Then she couldn’t help it. She rolled over and hid her face in the long grass, whooping with laughter.

“It’s not funny, Lark.”

Lark continued to shake, tears streaming from her eyes.

“Oh, I know, it isn’t,” she blurted, wiping her eyes. “But – it is, it is!”

And she burst into laughter again. “You killed a chicken, Sojourner! Do you know how young I was the first time I did that?”

Sojourner allowed herself a smile.

“All right.”

“All these years, you’ve been feeling guilty about . . .” She couldn’t finish, hiding her head again in the patch of grass.

When finally she recovered, the eyes were piercing her again, but this time there was a smile to accompany them.

“You’re good for me, you know?”

“I know.”

It was the cloying sweet scent of magic that alerted Sojourner, moments before the illusion crashed down upon her. She leapt up from her relaxed position, holding her hands out in front of her.

“Lark, close your eyes!” she warned her friend.

“What –“ Then Lark screamed, tripping as a enormous paw clawed at her.

“Close your eyes!” Sojourner commanded again, this time in a voice of iron. She leapt in front of her friend, gripping her arm. Lark had no choice but to obey.

Swirling about them were enormous shrieking griffins, with bodies of lions and wings of eagles, hideously terrifying in form. Lark crouched, eyes closed, hands over her ears, while Sojourner stepped forward and spoke sharp words into the chaos.

“Light! Not darkness, for goodness sake! Oh, and – peace; we don’t want all that noise!”

There was a dying away of the sound, and a steadiness in the air.

“Open your eyes, now, Lark.”

There was nothing to indicate anything at all had been there.

“They were your magic words?” Lark asked faintly.

“Just for effect,” Sojourner admitted. “They can’t hear it, not really.” She grabbed Lark’s arm, where the claw had dug cruelly. Then she lifted Lark’s chin.

“Next time. Obey me. Instantly.”

“But . . .”

“They were an illusion, but you let them hurt you. They can’t really touch you. But your body expected to be injured.”

“I cut myself?”

Sojourner wrapped a cloth tightly about the bleeding wound.

“Something like that.”

She sat Lark down, and dropped a handful of sweet apricots in her lap.

“Eat up. You’ll go into shock, otherwise.”

Lark rolled her eyes. “It’s all shocks with you.”

Sojourner was surprised at how much that hurt.

“I’m – sorry,” she muttered. “I should have taught you about illusion before now . . .”

“Mmm. Well, that was a lesson I won’t forget, anyhow.” Lark returned, biting into an apricot. She tossed one at her friend. “So who was that, then?”

“Some minor wizard, I presume,” Sojourner reassured her. “That was too easy.”

“Uh huh. So can you explain again exactly why they’re all out to get you?”

Sojourner finished tying the bandage, and got up. “I’ve told you before.”

She moved over to the small campsite and waved an imperious hand. All signs of their habitation disappeared; even the bent stalks of grass rose in obedience.

“You said you don’t like doing that.”

Sojourner sighed, and then sat down behind her friend. She saw that her hair hadn’t been done yet that morning, and conjured a comb.

“May I?”

Lark inclined her head, and Sojourner drew the comb through it in long gentle strokes.

“I don’t like using magic for everything. When I don’t need to,” she began. “This is much nicer than flicking a finger. When I use magic I connect to the darkness of my own soul, mostly. But when I see with my eyes and touch with my hands -“ She paused. “I’m connecting to you. And to the most human part of myself, the part I want to grow. I want the old longings to starve away and die . . .” She sighed. “They all know that. The more I become human, the less dark magic exists for all those conjurers out there. They want to destroy me, release all the darkness into the world for their own pleasure. Or at least change me back to who I was before, when I let magic rise so strongly in this world that nature itself was changed by it.”

“But you’ll never give it up altogether.”

“I can’t. It’s part of me, like breathing, like my own heartbeat. I wish I could, but I can’t. Why do you think it took you so long to persuade me to teach you anything?”

Lark moved a hand over her friend’s own.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have – blamed you for the griffins. I chose this.”

Sojourner hesitated.

“You don’t have to keep choosing it, though. I mean –“

“I could go home?” Lark laughed. “I don’t want to. Even if it does mean a scratched arm every once in a while.”

“Or worse?”

“Or worse,” Lark repeated. “You said it yourself. You’re connected to me.”

A smile broke over Sojourner’s face, but she continued her rhythmic combing.

“You remind me of someone.”

“Who?”

“The _last_ man I ever kissed.”

“He didn’t cry, I presume?”

Sojourner laughed, a low sound in her throat.

“Oh, no.”

“Who was he?”

“Thunder’s brother, ironically enough,” Sojourner answered surprisingly. “He – oh, it’s hard to explain, but he’s so human that magic is nothing to him. He wouldn’t have seen the griffins, and that dragon in your village? He would have plucked it out of the sky with a bare hand, seeing only an oddly-shaped bird.”

Lark laughed delightedly.

“He never saw magic on anyone. When he looked at me, he didn’t see my shadow. Only the colour of my hair, my eyes. He thought I could be more that just a conduit of dark forces. He saw me as a – woman, I suppose, and I hadn’t thought of myself as that for so very long.”

Lark was quiet a moment. Then – “So, was it nice?”

Sojourner gave a short laugh.

“Very. I’ve never know anyone who –“

“What?”

“I don’t want to ruin your ideals, Lark.”

“Oh, come on!”

“Well – I’ve never made love to someone who actually cared about me. About what I was feeling. I don’t mean all my lovers have been selfish, but most of them are more interested in the sounds you make, and how masculine it makes them feel . . . it’s something like pride, and power, too. But he –“Sojourner laid down the comb, and began braiding her friend’s hair. “He really cared about how I felt. Wanted me to feel happy and special.” She raised an eyebrow. ”That was nice.”

“So where is he now?”

Sojourner tied a tiny bow in the last lock and got up. “I don’t know, exactly. He’s got his own path, and it doesn’t include magic. I can’t pretend that that’s a large part of my life. So.”

“So.” And Lark pulled her friend down, picked up the comb and began on her hair.

“Tell me why I remind you of him.”

“Ow!”

“Oops.”

**Chapter Two**

“Nearly there.”

Sojourner cast an anxious look at the sky, as they began the last curve of the mountain path before it led down to the township. It was late Autumn; but there was a unseasonable bite to the air, as though Winter was hard on their heels.

“What’s this place?” Lark asked, her enthusiasm for the new and different amusing Sojourner as always. “Oh, is it like that place in the south, where the animals speak oracles and are served by humans?”

“Just an ordinary town, Lark,” Sojourner replied, then smiled at her disappointment. “Well, not altogether. This is the town where storytellers meet. Sometimes, you just get a good tale. At other times, they’re able to discern your deepest fantasy and tell it to your heart, so it’s like you’ve really lived it.”

“Oh,” Lark sighed in anticipation, then hugged her cloak about herself. “It’s really got cold, hasn’t it?”

A few flakes of snow had begun to fall, and Sojourner frowned.

“I don’t like this,” she stated. “Stay close, now – and think of some songs.”

“Songs?” Lark repeated in surprise.

The snow began to swirl about them, falling faster, while the wind picked up and shrill voices began.

“I hope you know a few good tunes,” Sojourner warned, drawing her own cloak closer about her.

A shrill shrieking began, and the wind buffeted them, trying to separate them, while the swirl of snowflakes made the path invisible.

“Sing, Lark!” Sojourner shouted over the howling. “Sing as loud and hard as you can!” She clung onto her friend’s hand, noticing how cold it was already.

The sound of the old folk song “I love to have a drink with Duncan . . .” reassured Sojourner, and she drew upon her charmed sight to find the true path amidst the white. The snow would cool them, and the blizzard lose them, but the voices in the wind had the power to drive them mad. Magic, though, had difficulty with humour; it was too human. So rude drinking songs could well be the best defence.

“You disgust me.”

Sojourner started, hearing her mother’s voice. _It’s an illusion._

No, it was a memory.

“Turning us into dolls, drawing on the power from the universe for your own pleasure!”

Sojourner strained to hear Lark’s song, strained to feel her hand within her own. It was too cold, too noisy. The shrieks became cries of grief . . .

“Destroyed! You destroyed him! He was lost to the magic, because of you . . .”

“Brother, O brother, where art thou, where art thou . . .”

_A circle of ice, surrounding a boy. She was screaming to him, telling him the words of the rune that would free him from the stupid spell he’d cast. But he was too scared, and the cold devoured him . . ._

Sojourner stopped, unable to see, unable to hear, frozen. Suddenly she tugged on the far-away hand of her friend, drew her an inch away so she could at least see what was unable to be heard.

“We’ll freeze if we don’t warm ourselves,” she shouted. “Close your eyes, and think of the warmest thing you know!”

There was a nod – she’d understood. “And keep singing!”

Sojourner then closed her own eyes. Encircled in her brother’s arms – lying covered in furs by a fire – the hot sand by the sea – running hard against the wind - the warmth of a friendly handshake, a kiss –

Singing loud.

_“Green_

_Days – such green days_

_Blue a curve about, that sky_

_White against the sky, those trees_

_Clear along the wind, those scents_

_Of forest pine, and fragrant jasmine._

_The silence sharpens it. . . .”_

She opened her eyes.

“You can sing!”

Lark’s hair was soaked with sweat, her face red.

“I heard you –“

“And I heard you,” Sojourner teased. “Didn’t know you knew such words!”

****

Sojourner watched Lark as she snuggled into the warmth of the Inn’s best bed, and dropped into sleep. Though it tugged at her too, she waited.

When he came to her, she felt for an instant that she had come home. That spicy, pungent scent of magic! The red throbbing glow of power! Something in her called out for him, and she stilled it. For the first time she turned to Thunder and looked.

“Surprised?”

Oh, she could hide nothing from him, let alone a dropped jaw and blushing cheek. He was – he was young! As young as she, or nearly. She’d never imagined . . .

“Seems strange with all my witch-sight never to have seen your face.”

“I wondered when –“ Thunder stopped, and she actually heard his voice with her ears, rather than the echoes in her mind. “Perhaps my brother did me a service, after all.”She heard an accent of bitterness there. There was such depth to her human self!

“I feel like you robbed me,” Sojourner breathed. “But I know I only robbed myself.”

She stared at him, unable to stop. He was young, and his hair was as dark as her own, his eyes humorous and lively.

“You must have been a man, once.”

“Of course.”

“You sent the snow.”

Thunder shrugged. “A mere distraction.”

“It was,” she agreed dryly. “You taught me well. You know I can counter whatever you throw at me.”

He ran a hand through his hair impatiently, in such a boyish gesture that Sojourner found her mouth falling open again.

“Maybe. But why bother? Why not enjoy what you had? You were the dark enchantress, who ruled the whole land! And who are you now?”

“Someone who doesn’t harm the world with her foolish conjuring,” Sojourner returned. “Doesn’t starve the people by enforcing winter, or destroy the sea by changing sand to gold, or whatever peculiar spells I used to cast. Someone who enjoys actually seeing – seeing, can you believe! – a sunset with her own eyes . . .”

“You’re reduced to sunsets, when you once could see the span of time unfold before you?” Thunder asked scornfully. “It won’t last. You were connected to the wisdom of ages . . .”

“Now I’m connected to a friend. Have you ever had one?”

She was tired now, and she waved him away.

“I need sleep. Leave me be, Thunder. I won’t return, and you won’t destroy your star pupil, will you? Leave me be. There’s enough decent, ordinary magic for the every day. The rest is just extravagance.”

“It was once that sumptuousness you loved,” he said almost wistfully. “You’ll come back when you’ve had enough of being ruled by hunger, and sleep, and fear. And I’ll be there.”

She yawned rudely, and he laughed.

“Oh, humanity becomes you, Sojourner!”

When he dematerialised, she went and lay back down by her sleeping friend. Something had altered in her, by seeing him as he was. She’d never realised he was a man! Just a man . . .

**Chapter Three**

Lark knew something had changed about her friend, but she decided to bide her time before asking directly what had happened.

The town of tales was enchanting enough for her. Sojourner had obviously been teasing her when she said it was an ordinary place. Half the stalls in the market place sold scrolls; the others sold quills! There were regular bards on the street-corners, reciting epics of love and war. Within the taverns were the magical tale-tellers, who knew your dreams by looking at your worn face or your shaking hand, and made your fantasies come to life . . . though it seemed to Lark that they shied away from Sojourner.

If you explored some winding passage down an obscure little street, there might even be a purveyor of magic words. These superior vendors had managed to discover the gold in every story, the one word which held their power. Sojourner laughed, and called them alchemists; Lark, though, knew that sometimes it took just one word to tell a story or change a life.

_Dragon._

_His shadow outracing his huge form, wings outstretched, furious breath afire, scales glistening in the last moments of light._

_She stood watching while all others raced screaming to positions of safety. Her thoughts of beauty, not death. The colours which melded into one another, greens and greys, the strip of red like a tongue of flame along his tail. She could see the flex of his muscle as his great forepaws were stretched out, and the fine bones in his wings._

_The bright freedom of flight glimpsed for an instant in yellow eyes._

_Her head turned as the beast swooped past, and then she crouched, breathing hard, fear taking its place inside her an instant later. Such an animal could never be tamed, was uncontrollable. It seemed strange that part of her frightened heartbeat was excitement._

_She took refuge under a stalled wagon, watching as the people in the village scattered, grabbing children and hiding their eyes._

_“Lark!!”_

_Her sister was crawling towards her, her small figure trembling, crying._

_“No one could fight him – we’ll die, I know we will!”_

_The beast turned, and began to swoop down to the main pen in the village where the animals were kept. The low buildings around the pen shuddered, and more screams could be heard._

_Lark held her sister’s hand, and thought grimly that if the dragon didn’t kill them the winter would. If he burned everything, took their cattle, they’d die, and die slowly._

_But she’d have seen a dragon._

_Suddenly a figure could be seen, standing, in the centre of the town. It was a robed woman, long black hair falling free around her shoulders. She stood raising her hands up to the sky, to the threatening beast. Somehow her hands seemed to be keeping the dragon away._

_Wonderingly, Lark stood also. Shaking off her sister’s arm, she moved over from her position outside the gate and drew closer to the woman, who was shuddering with the effort, her eyes gleaming, her lips moving. Silent._

_Lark moved closer, unable to stop herself. Again the woman shook, but this time Lark was there to hold her, stop her from falling. A moment of strength._

_Then the dragon grew smaller above them, its shadow fading until it was the size of a cat, the size of a bee. Then – nothing.._

One afternoon, while listening open-mouthed to a storyteller in one of the better taverns, she saw a hand extended out. Almost unconsciously she rose, and stood by the teller of tales.

He was an elderly man, with skin wrinkled like a nut, and hair to match; but his eyes bright and blue.

“I’ve waited long for someone to tell my tale. When I see you, I know you must be the one.”

The dark hair and the fair. The old and the young. Under some strange spell of her own making, Lark looked and listened, and began to speak.

_Was a fisherman once, caught a boy in his net –_

_Caught a son not a meal._

_Who was the fatherless boy, the sonless man?_

_Was a boy once whose stories drove the mad sane_

_Caused Kings to give up their thrones, beggars their journeys._

_Who was the poor Emperor, the wealthy vagabond?_

_Was a man once, whose son was Merlin the great;_

_Yet still a fatherless boy and a sonless man with such a son._

Her lips closed around the last word, and she gasped, trembling with the strength of the magic. The old man smiled, though, and touched her hand, and nodded.

“Thank you.”

Lark nodded, while the power surged like the tide, then receded. She moved back, stumbled a little, was steadied by Sojourner who drew her back.

They made their way back to their Inn by starlight, Lark looking about at the people around them with new eyes. Seeing their stories.

“Maybe this is my magic.” She suggested tentatively to Sojourner.

“Maybe it is,” Sojourner agreed, to her surprise.

Lark turned to her, a flash of excitement in her eyes.

“You think – this may be it?”

Sojourner gave a slow smile, as she looked at her friend’s delight.

“When are you most yourself, Lark? When do you feel, finally, that you’re in the place you belong and you need, want for, nothing to add to your joy?”

Lark stared, openmouthed. _Contentment_ was the word; but it didn’t sing of the comfortable home-coming she truly felt.

“It’s not when you’re creating beauty in illusion and apparition; and it isn’t when you’re charming obedience into the inanimate, or drawing wisdom from the stars. When I see you drawing out a tale from someone’s soul, I know you are exactly where you should be.”

Lark’s heart beat a little faster, as though someone had given her a new and truer name. And so they had.

“I’m a . . . a bard, then.” She tried out the phrase and liked it. “I look at people and know them; I call out their stories, and I give them back.”

Then she raised her chin.

“Even your own?”

Sojourner inclined her head. “Even mine. You know more of my stories than almost anyone.”

“Almost anyone,” Lark repeated, but left it there. It was enough.

*****

“Do you want to stay?”

They were packed, ready to leave. Sojourner couldn’t risk staying in one place for too long, especially in a place that attracted deep magic, such as this.

“You’ve found something important here, and . . .”

“Yes, I have,” Lark said gently.

Sojourner’s heart sank, and she turned away roughly.

“Well, that’s right, then. This is the place where you found that . . .”

A hand was laid on her arm; a touch stopped her.

“I did find something important here. But before that, I found someone important.”

And Lark grinned. “Anyhow, I don’t know _all_ your stories yet – the suspense would kill me!”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Sojourner smiled, and then moved forward to give Lark a swift hug.

“Oh, I’m glad. Because that safe place you know, when you’re telling a story? I know it when you’re by my side.”

**Chapter Four**

“No, wait. Let’s – let’s not go this way.”

“Why? It’s the shortest, isn’t it, and we’re fresh out of supplies.”

Sojourner’s face was closed again, and Lark sighed.

“What is it?”

“I’ve been this way before.”

“That’s good, you’ll know which way to – oh. Before.”

That was a code word for the past, for some part of Sojourner that Lark knew she’d never reach, never understand.

But she made a decision.

“We’ll go this way, Sojourner. Maybe if you see it again, face it, it – won’t feature so often in your nightmares.”

Sojourner gave a harsh laugh.

“You think I _dream?_ ”

Lark stared, then paled.

“I forgot. You traded in your dreams, didn’t you?”

“They’re a strong magic, you should know that,” Sojourner returned sharply. “My dreams were the first things I gave to Thunder when I came under his tutelage.”

“Will he give them back one day, do you think?” Lark suggested, but Sojourner had already strode ahead.

When the woods cleared, they came across a great plain, surrounded by hills. It was filled with grey stone; it was filled with statues, the faces worn away by wind and rain.

Witches, their wands outstretched. Wizards whose robes sank around their feet, strange goblin creatures with their magic stones, tiny enchanters whose hands were raised to the sky . . .

Sojourner’s face was as impassive as the images themselves.

“A hundred people, perhaps more,” Lark breathed, looking at their forms overgrown with grass and vines.

“And I took away their humanity. I was good at that, seeing I’d lost all of my own –“

Sojourner shook her head and moved on, drawing her cloak closer around herself. But Lark lingered, staring at the faces transformed by dread and fear. Sojourner had inspired that. And now she walked on.

“Can’t you – undo this?” she whispered, catching up to Sojourner as she took the path away from the plain.

“Like it never happened?”

Lark was stung by the venom in her voice. “Can’t you? You still have power –“

“No, Lark. I can’t undo it. I can’t make it so it never happened, as though I never did all those things! Those innocents who died in the Great Winter; I can’t bring them back to life! The mountain that fell at my word will never be raised again, and I can’t change back the stars . . .” she sighed. “This is why I didn’t want to go this way. Now you see me as I am, Lark, really am. Not kind or good, barely human! Don’t learn magic from me. Go back to the village and speak your stories to people with a golden heart!”

Lark hesitated as Sojourner began to climb the hill-path. She looked around a little longer at the statues on the plains, then moved on.

*****

“What are you doing?”

Sojourner woke to see Lark staring into the fire, muttering. She strode over and doused the flames with a quick hand.

“Sojourner!”

“Don’t you remember anything? The power is twice as strong with a hungry flame. You can’t imagine how powerful!”

Lark looked up, and Sojourner’s heart sank at the look in her eyes. A flash of indignation, and a greed that she’d never seen before.

“Oh, what have I done to you, Lark?” she murmured, crouching beside her friend. “You knew what the flame would do, didn’t you?”

“Or what it would have done, if you hadn’t ruined it,” Lark retorted angrily, getting up and stepping back from her friend. “You told me yourself that story was my magic. Why won’t you let me find out the stories of the earth, the stories of the dead?”

“That’s deep magic, Lark, I’ve told you again and again! It’s without permission, it’s a kind of theft!”

An odd smile came over Lark’s face.

“With my very first charm I became a thief, remember?”

Then she strode away, moving into the woods surrounding the campfire. Almost without thinking Sojourner cast an impediment spell around the wood, the kind to prevent any ordinary magic taking place. Then she sank back, sighing.

“What have I done to you, Lark?” she repeated, her head in her hands. “Your gift was about people, not these esoteric burst of power. How did I corrupt you so easily?”

The more Sojourner thought about it, the stranger it seemed. She’d never mentioned any spell to take from the dead, never said anything about it; it was distasteful to any true magician. Who would have told her of such things?

A horrible suspicion grew in Sojourner’s mind, and she got up, looking for her friend, and using her witch-sight to spy her.

It was so. Mixed in with her friend’s honest, spring-green magic, were strands of the rich-red charms of Thunder. It seemed incredible to Sojourner that she hadn’t noticed it before.

Then she began to tremble. Thunder, corrupting her friend! Wanting to take her, shut her up in that frozen tower in the wastelands where no human dwelt, where the only relief _was_ magic.

“What did you offer her? What –“

He appeared behind her, and for a moment she refused to turn, refused to use her human sight to see him. Sometimes she hated to have to remember he was a man; but when she saw him, tall and strong, with his tousled dark hair, she couldn’t help but know.

“I offered her nothing more than that I offered you.”

Sojourner almost laughed, almost cried out at that.

“Jealous?”

It was a kind of jealousy, though it wasn’t the sexual jealousy she dimly realised he imagined.

“We were happy, Thunder. Haven’t you ever known someone you could be happy with? Comfortable, easy, not having to watch your words? Someone who knows you near as well as yourself?” She was almost pleading. “I don’t want you to offer Lark the world, because you know as well as I you can’t make good on such a promise. What would she do shut up in that frozen tower?”

Thunder laughed, then, though it wasn’t a happy laugh, and shrugged.

“What would she do? What do I care? All I know is that she’s separated you from everything we once revelled in! And so I want to separate her from you.”

“I changed long before I ever met her.”

“It wouldn’t have lasted,” Thunder stated positively. “The longing would have killed you.” He stepped forward, grabbing her hand and moving it to his lips. “You feel it, I know you do. . .”

Sojourner’s eyes widened in astonishment, as her heartbeat sped.

“What -?”

Then she saw her friend over his shoulder, her face a mix of shame and fury, and missed seeing Thunder disappear altogether.

“For a moment –“ Lark swallowed, moved forward. “For an instant, I knew what it was like to be you –“

Then she began to cry, and Sojourner took her in her arms.

“I’m sorry, so sorry, Lark,” she crooned, caressing the fair head on her shoulder. “He’s been an enchanter so long that he’s forgotten he was ever a man . . . those sorcerers forget about human hearts.”

“He told me that you had something inside you, a secret that was worth everything. He said he’d show me . . .”

Sojourner felt cold, felt sick. Oh yes, he hadn’t lied. It was a horror, though, a misery, a fate and a curse. Worst of all, it was all of her own making.

“Listen, and I’ll tell you what he meant, Lark,” she said wearily, drawing her friend to the fire and clicking her fingers hastily to re-light it. She sat down, settling her friend beside her, trying to draw up enough bravery to tell such a story.

“There was a spell that the great magicians knew, that would bring a massive amount of magic into the world.”

“No one had ever cast this spell. I always thought there was no one strong or powerful or brave enough. Well, it wasn’t that. There was no one foolish enough . . . till I came along.”

“Thunder saw my potential. He promised me the whole world, and taught me everything I needed to know, to cast the spell.”

“A wiser woman would have asked why he just didn’t do it himself.”

Lark’s tears had stopped now, and she looked up at Sojourner. Her face frozen, her eyes reflecting agony.

“So I cast the spell. Do you remember any strange happenings, perhaps a month before the dragon?”

Lark tried to remember.

“Oh – yes, of course. The earth shook, the stars moved – it was terrible!”

“I did that.”

Her voice reflected a quiet horror.

“There was a dark magic that has always dwelt deep inside the earth. Some great magicians have occasionally called upon this magic, and have always come to a bad end because of it. This spell was to harness all the darkness. Draw it all out. A power unimaginable.”

“And you – you did that?”

“Yes.”

Sojourner bit her lip, recalling the feeling of utter helplessness when all the forces of dark magic flowed through her.

“I did only one good thing, however – I stopped them from flowing directly into to world. If they’d done so – well, there’d be nothing left, nothing human, animal, natural.”

“So where . . . “ Lark’s face paled as finally she understood. “You’re carrying it all inside you.”

“Yes.”

“And if those warlocks manage to kill you?”

“Then the power will be released. Something those dark magicians desire more than anything, not understanding it will be the end of them!”

Lark began to shake.

“So what hope is there?”

Sojourner smiled a little.

“Only one hope that I know of. If by my death I save another, then the dark magic cannot gain and is utterly destroyed.”

“Forever?” Lark breathed.

Sojourner nodded.

“So you would have done the thing all good magicians dream of. Destroying all the dark magic forever.” Then Lark paused. “So your dream is your own death, then. Well, I won’t have that. I won’t.”

“Lark –“

She got up, furious. “You can’t do this, Sojourner. Give me your friendship, then tell me your fate and your hope is your death!”

“There’s no other way . . .”

“How do you know that?”

Sojourner smiled, lifted a hand. “We all have to die, Lark. I just have to wait till the right time, that’s all.”

“It’ll never be right. Not to me,” Lark told her, then hesitated. “Sojourner, I love you. I’ve never had a friend like you.”

Sojourner’s mouth opened, but she had no words. It was a gift she’d never known before. But Lark expected nothing else, and just pressed her hand, and moved purposefully to the woods. She had someone to turn down.

**Chapter Five**

“I’m so cold . . .”

Sojourner held a shivering Lark in her arms as they sheltered from the grey, driving rain under a group of trees. They’d spent the last week being attacked by a number of warlocks, greater and lesser, who’d struck them with plagues and assailed them with apparitions, beset them with irritating enchantments and assaulted their minds with illusions. Lark especially, with her gift for imagination, found illusions hard to bear.

Finally a warlock had cast a spell of exhausting sickness upon them, which, along with the miserable weather, had torn down the last of their defences. Sojourner herself was tired; but Lark was horribly ill.

Sojourner thought hard. They were a fair distance from any sizable village, and she knew of at least three magicians heading their way; paltry conjurers, but Lark was in no condition to deal with anything magical. She looked down at her friend, pale and shivering.

“I’m getting you out of here,” Sojourner told her suddenly. “It’ll be dry and warm, and a place where no magicians can follow us . . . .”

Lark coughed. “Why haven’t we gone there before?”

Sojourner looked about uneasily. “It’s where I’ve been running from. But it will be all right. I know it will . . .”

Then she held Lark tightly and drew on all her reserves of magic. In that instant their surroundings changed, from a wooded field to a small room, with a fire flaming in its centre.

Outside was the bleakness which Sojourner had escaped. A wasteland no other magician would dare to enter. They were in the Tower.

Sojourner quickly dried Lark off and placed her on the large canopied bed by the fire.

“You’ll be all right,” she murmured. “We’ll be fine, once we’ve rested . . .”

There was no response, and Sojourner looked down at her friend sharply.

“Lark?”

The girl was cold and near blue.

Sojourner shook her roughly. “Come on, Lark. We’re safe now.”

Her voice broke, and tears came unbidden to her eyes. “Come on, Lark, it’s all right. You’ll soon be warm and well again. Come on!”

When Lark finally stirred, a sob broke from Sojourner’s lips. “Don’t dare leave me, Lark. Don’t ever, ever. I love you.”

Lark’s eyes flickered a moment. “Love you too, Sojourner. But can you let me sleep?”

Sojourner’s tears were replaced with a smile, and she settled her friend down with blankets and a few magic words.

“Sleep, come around and stay a while. Stay until all the rest is complete.”

When Sojourner was certain that Lark was asleep, she moved over to the fire, letting herself believe the illusion for a moment, in order to feel warmth.

“You really have changed, my enchantress.”

Sojourner reminded herself that she couldn’t expect to shelter in Thunder’s palace without meeting him, but still felt unaccountably annoyed.

“This was my room for a long time,” she said finally. “I didn’t think you’d mind . . .”

“And I don’t,” Thunder assured her, finally materialising the other side of the fire. His face in shadows. “No, make use of it. What I meant was – I’ve never known you to give away your power before.”

 _Now who’s jealous!_ Sojourner thought uncharitably. She knew exactly what he meant. Once you’d told someone you loved them, they held a control over you – one of the strongest kinds.

“Yes, I’ve changed, Thunder, and for the better,” she told him directly. “I know this is your place, but I’d appreciate it if you’d let us be, let us recover from the barrage of assaults sent down on us.”

“You can’t fight forever,” he warned her.

“I don’t have to – just die well. I’m trying my best to do so,” Sojourner returned, and then turned her back on him. She couldn’t bear looking into those human-seeming eyes much longer. “I’m tired, Thunder.”

“Very well.”

He did exactly as she asked; but strangely enough, Sojourner still felt annoyed.

*****

“She’s not waking up, Thunder,” Sojourner’s voice grew louder and more panicked. “Why isn’t it working?”

Lark lay on the bed deep in sleep; just as she’d lain the last three days. At first Sojourner had been relieved that her spell had sent her into a natural sleep; now she was worried.

“It isn’t your spell, Sojourner; taking it off won’t change a thing,” Thunder told her patiently, moving towards her in his human form. “She doesn’t want to wake. Not yet.”

Sojourner shook her friend. “Lark! Lark, come on, wake up, please!”

“Come now, Sojourner. Do you really think that will work?” Thunder asked her with amusement. “Can’t you tell she’s somewhere else at the moment; some place she doesn’t yet want to leave?”

Sojourner closed her eyes and jumped into Lark’s sleep for an instant. It was most dangerous; if you were caught up in the currents of another’s dream, it could be difficult to extricate yourself. But she followed Lark’s bright green trail and felt her dream, even though she could not experience it directly. Thunder was right. Lark was deeply involved in some kind of vision.

There was a sound, and a movement. Suddenly Sojourner – slipped. Lark was beginning to wake; but it was as though a trailing cord of her magic had caught Sojourner. For a moment she could not tell where she was – or even who she was -

“Sojourner!”

Thunder’s voice called to her, and she held onto it, while she climbed out of Lark’s sleep into reality

“Are you insane? Have you forgotten all your magic?” Thunder shouted, grabbing onto her arm. “You could have been lost . . .” Then he stopped, his face paling. “What kind of spell have you cast, to do this to me?”

Sojourner stared. With human sight, he seemed pale; but with witch-sight, she could see that his blood-red magic was fading.

“I’ve cast no enchantment on you, Thunder,” Sojourner whispered, staring at him. “Has someone cursed you?”

Their eyes locked for an instant, and Sojourner looked into his very soul. She blanched.

“ _I’ve_ cursed you, haven’t I?”

**Chapter Six**

“I don’t get it,” Lark announced, while Sojourner watched the pacing Thunder carefully.

“Thunder – saved me from being lost forever in your sleep,” Sojourner tried to explain. ”A completely unselfish act . . . dark magic doesn’t like that.”

“But we both have magic, and we don’t draw on the dark,” Lark argued. “Anyway, surely the magic couldn’t get annoyed with him for one decent act?”

An unselfish act, and the fact that he was falling in love with her would tend to irritate the darkness, Sojourner thought to herself, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak it aloud.

“We’ve both learned to draw on the natural, good magic. He knows nothing of that; he’s just as you were before I taught you your first spell,” she replied instead.

Lark stole a look at Thunder, then shook her head.

“Well, I can’t write with him here. I’ll be in the Library if you need me.”

Sojourner nodded, watching as she made her way out of the large room.“Why don’t you just make a public announcement, Sojourner?” Thunder burst out. “If word gets out that I’m without magic, I’ll be destroyed by every would-be conjuror in the land!”

“We’re safe here,” Sojourner told him calmly, trying not to look at him directly. “No one can get through the wasteland without strong magic. No one ever has.”

She got up and stepped out onto the balcony. She was still trembling, still astonished at the way Thunder had managed to pull her out of Lark’s sleep. She wondered if any other voice could have drawn her so . . .

“I can’t live without magic.”

He was behind her, watching her as she gripped the balustrade. She pulled her robes around her, pretending that it was the chill of the night air that made her shiver.

“I know you can’t, Thunder,” she turned and faced him, finally. The look in his dark eyes made her melt inside. “We’re not like the others. Not like Lark, not like your brother. Neither of us are wholly human, and neither of us can live without magic. Perhaps that’s why the darkness had such a firm grip on us both,”

He moved closer, his fingers barely touching her own.

“Yes, we’re the same,” he agreed

“I’ll teach you my magic, the decent magic of nature. It’s just as powerful, but you can’t meld it, shape it to your will. You need to follow it, like a river follows the lay of the land.”

“Give up freedom?” Thunder suggested with disgust.

“Give up control.”He moved forward, pushing a lock of her dark hair back from her face.

“This is who you are, now, isn’t it?” he murmured. “You let your hair fall free around your shoulders, you dip into your friend’s dreams in order to help her. You accept that you have to die in order to be free of your burden –“

His face changed for an instant, and his hand moved to his chest. “It’s so heavy, there – it hurts.”

Without thinking she put her own hand over his. “It’s called heart-ache. That heaviness . . . it’s because you’re sad that I have to die."

For a second he was silent; then he moved forward and kissed her, pressing her back against the edge of the balcony.

“Sojourner!” Lark screamed, running forward and pulling Thunder back. She pushed him down and started beating him with her fists. Thunder’s only response was a loud roar of laughter, and he lay back on the stone balcony, shaking with laughter.

“She thought . . “ he choked, “She thought I was trying to push you off!”

Lark stared at Sojourner. “He was trying to kill you – wasn’t he?”

Sojourner had had enough. She closed her eyes and left.

“I used to be able to do that,” Thunder muttered, staring at the space where Sojourner had stood. “Now I have to move with my own two feet!”

“If you weren’t throwing her off, what were you doing, then?” Lark persisted. “I saw you – oh.”

Thunder pulled himself up. “Worked it out, my little innocent? Here’s a lesson for you. Nothing’s more dangerous to magic – nothing at all – than love. And there’s nothing more likely to provoke love than loss. So Sojourner dug my own grave by leaving me.”

“Just as you created hers,”Lark retorted.

Thunder pushed past the girl, moved out of the room, his hand still on the strange heaviness in his chest.

*****

“I didn’t think it would happen so soon,” Sojourner murmured, staring out the window.

The wilderness had blossomed. Wildflowers dotted the once-frozen plains; birds could be heard singing. The sky which had always been stormy was clear, and the howling wind had been replaced by a warm, fresh breeze.

“If this isn’t a signal to every warlock around, nothing is,” Thunder said grimly, startling her. His magic had all but disappeared now, so she was unable to sense his presence, although he was making excellent progress with her lessons on the magic of light.

“Dark really has gone from this place, hasn’t it?” Sojourner agreed, watching the landscape with pleasure. “But you’re right – if we stay we’ll be a target for every magician seeking revenge on you or the darkness in me. We should leave.”

She turned around, searching his eyes. “I can’t say that I’m sorry that I’ve brought this on you, exactly, but –“

He moved a hand to the curve of her face, exploring the warmth and softness of her skin.

“I can’t say whether I’m sorry, either,” he replied honestly.

Sojourner smiled a little; honesty had broken through him like a cool breeze on a still day, refreshing and delightful. Even his demeanour was more relaxed. She allowed him to pull her face up to his, enjoying the warmth of his lips on hers, allowing herself to lean a little into the hard strength of his so-human body. She didn’t want her heart to follow where her body led, when it was to be so short-lived, but occasionally she felt as though she were lost in a different dream, with no one to pull her out, and with no will of her own to do so.

A cough alerted them to Lark’s presence.

“Sorry to disturb you, but I thought you’d better see this –“ She led them to a small pool of water which she’d enchanted with Sight. “It’s a little too late to leave now, I think.”

“Always the Queen of understatement, Lark,” Thunder murmured, watching the mass of witch, warlock and magician force head towards their wilderness. “We’re surrounded, aren’t we?”

Sojourner nodded sharply, then looked up at Lark.

“I need to get you out of here. I can send you back to your village – or the town of the storytellers, if you’d rather. Hold my hands –“

Lark’s face was transformed with indignation. “You think I’d leave . . . you think I’d leave you here, to die? After all this time?”

“They’ll destroy you, Lark.”

“No. Sojourner, I never told you of my vision, but it was of your fate, and I was part of it. I need to stay. If you want the dark destroyed, you need me!”

Sojourner gripped her friend’s hand tightly. “I can’t be the means of your destruction, Lark!”

Lark held her gaze carefully. “I won’t die. Not yet, anyhow. The vision showed me that much.”

Sojourner sighed. “All right, then.” She turned to Thunder. “You, at least, will be sensible about this, won’t you? I can get you away –“

“Forget it,” he growled, and moved out of the room.

“He needs to stay, too,” Lark said helpfully.

So. Sojourner turned away from the sight in the water. They were to die together, perhaps. As long as the dark died too.

**Chapter Six**

They met on the great plain outside the Tower.

Once it was a great icy wasteland. Now it consisted of grassy fields, with hollows filled with flowers. A stream flowed through it.

Near a hundred dark magicians faced them, with skills in all the enchantments that drew on darkness, all the pain-inducing visions and ugly curses, the bitter afflictions and the cold, cold shadows.

Lark realised that she felt more excited than frightened. Although she knew the combined power which faced them was unimaginably strong, she also knew that all the dark magic which had enslaved their land would be destroyed forever, that very day. That felt pretty exciting to her.

And she believed in her vision. Somehow, she would save Sojourner. Oh yes, she’d lied. She hadn’t seen herself alive, but instead her presence would save Sojourner, or at least lead to the dark becoming light. That was what mattered. And if she and Sojourner had to die together to achieve that; well, that was better than either one of them living alone.

“So, what’s your plan?” Thunder asked, approaching the pair of them. He looked bleary eyed, the result of staying up all night practicing white magic. Sojourner looked over at him approvingly. He’d rid himself of his black robes along with his dark magic, and was dressed as a man, now, in simple leather pants and vest.

“Humanity becomes you, Thunder,” Sojourner told him, with a small smile.

“Don’t steal all my best lines, will you?” Thunder teased, grabbing her arm and spinning her into himself. He kissed her, his mouth moving around hers until she felt sick with desire. “Here’s one for you – I love you. Have my power, there, Sojourner.”

She paled and pushed him away. “You said it yourself - that’s strong magic, don’t play with it.”

“Oh, I’m deadly serious.” His voice deepened to a low growl, and he captured her hand, moving it to his lips. “If this isn’t a spell, then some other kind of magic is at work. Something new, and alive, and altogether – intoxicating.”

Sojourner knew what he meant. Love wasn’t dark magic, or light; it belonged to itself, and was stronger than either of them. He’d lost his heart to her, then; he’d lost his control and found his freedom. And here she was, too frightened to do so and die.

“I don’t – have a plan,” she said finally, turning away, looking at both Lark and Thunder. Then she straightened. “Or – I didn’t. I wasn’t aware of anything at all that had the power to counter what these magicians could throw at us . . .”

She did now. She knew it now.

“Oh Lark – you knew we three had to be here, together, didn’t you?” She held out a hand to her friend, the other to her lover. “There’s enough love between us to destroy a thousand magicians, and all the darkness I’ve stored up inside.”

"I can restore your dreams, now," Thunder told her, pressing warm lips to her hand.

"I love you. Love you both," Sojourner said looking out at their enemies with courage.

“Those are your magic words?” Lark laughed, watching the horde of warlocks fall back before them.

“It’s not just for effect, you know,” Sojourner grinned.

The End


End file.
